wealthy wife; he doubted if she would need to earn her own living for long.
As he walked on towards the farm steading and the old farmhouse where the Oliphants lived, he pondered on the changes war had brought. At one time Mr Turner would never have been seen in work clothes, or on a tractor. Megan and Natalie had never mixed in the same circles as children but Natalie’s parents had not wanted her to be too far away from home during the war so they had paid for her to attend Dumfries Academy. Megan had passed examinations to go and both girls had lived in the hostel during the week.
He quickened his pace, wondering if Megan had changed as much as Natalie Turner. She had never sent him a photograph of herself. She had been smaller, more slightly built than most of her school friends. He still pictured her in her short navy gymslip with her hair in two thick auburn pleats. He grinned remembering how strenuously she denied her hair was auburn when he teased her. Megan had had freckles and a snub nose and big green eyes with thick lashes the same colour as her hair. He wondered whether she was still as shy. Her letters had always seemed confident and mature, even when he and Sam first went away. She had a way with words. They had looked forward to her weekly letters. He would always be grateful that she had continued writing to him after Sam’s death. She brought things to life so that he could picture them in his head; she made him smile when she described the idiosyncrasies of people they knew.
‘ Steven!’ Before he could knock on the door, Mrs Oliphant had flung it open and was holding out her soft plump arms to give him a hug. ‘I was just filling the kettle when I saw ye walking across the yard. Oh but ye’re a smart young fellow in your uniform.’
‘ Come on in and let’s have a look at ye, Steven,’ her husband called from the kitchen. ‘You’re just in time for some tea before we start the milking.’ He followed Mrs Oliphant along the stone flagged passage into the big kitchen. It had an open range like his mother’s with a rag rug in front of it and a big tabby cat curled up asleep. John Oliphant came round the table and grasped his hand in a fierce grip, reaching around to pat his back with his other brawny arm. Megan stood back, smiling shyly and he seized her and swung her around as he and Sam always used to do but as soon as he felt her soft curves against him he realised she was just as much a young woman as Natalie Turner, even if she was small and slender and less sophisticated. He had made her blush with his exuberance. Her mother made things worse.
‘ Hey lassie, there’s no need to blush for Stevie,’ she chuckled. ‘You’ve known him all your life.’
‘ I was surprised that’s all. You didn’t say you were coming home so soon in your last letter, Steven.’ Megan’s brows were raised in a question.
‘ No, I hoped I’d be demobbed and home for good but we’re being sent to Palestine.’
‘ Aw that’s a real shame,’ Mrs Oliphant said. ‘Draw in your chair laddie. Pass another cup and saucer and a plate, Megan. Help yourself to a scone. There’s not much butter with the rationing. We have to scrape it on and scrape it off again, but we’ve plenty of home made jam.’
‘ Aye help yourself lad,’ John Oliphant said. ‘I’m right glad to see you. Your Ma and Pa will be disappointed ye’re not home to stay though. They could do with ye at Willowburn now your Pa’s not so fit.’
Steven stared at the scone on his plate and didn’t answer. Megan looked up and saw the pulse throbbing above his jaw, she noticed the stern set to his mouth too. She exchanged a glance with her mother.
‘ I expect Fred’s annoyed because you’re not coming back to do the work yet?’ Chrissie Oliphant prompted.
‘ He’s more annoyed that I didna get myself killed like Sam.’ He couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice.
‘ Oh Stevie, dinna say that!’
‘ Well it’s true.
As he walked on towards the farm steading and the old farmhouse where the Oliphants lived, he pondered on the changes war had brought. At one time Mr Turner would never have been seen in work clothes, or on a tractor. Megan and Natalie had never mixed in the same circles as children but Natalie’s parents had not wanted her to be too far away from home during the war so they had paid for her to attend Dumfries Academy. Megan had passed examinations to go and both girls had lived in the hostel during the week.
He quickened his pace, wondering if Megan had changed as much as Natalie Turner. She had never sent him a photograph of herself. She had been smaller, more slightly built than most of her school friends. He still pictured her in her short navy gymslip with her hair in two thick auburn pleats. He grinned remembering how strenuously she denied her hair was auburn when he teased her. Megan had had freckles and a snub nose and big green eyes with thick lashes the same colour as her hair. He wondered whether she was still as shy. Her letters had always seemed confident and mature, even when he and Sam first went away. She had a way with words. They had looked forward to her weekly letters. He would always be grateful that she had continued writing to him after Sam’s death. She brought things to life so that he could picture them in his head; she made him smile when she described the idiosyncrasies of people they knew.
‘ Steven!’ Before he could knock on the door, Mrs Oliphant had flung it open and was holding out her soft plump arms to give him a hug. ‘I was just filling the kettle when I saw ye walking across the yard. Oh but ye’re a smart young fellow in your uniform.’
‘ Come on in and let’s have a look at ye, Steven,’ her husband called from the kitchen. ‘You’re just in time for some tea before we start the milking.’ He followed Mrs Oliphant along the stone flagged passage into the big kitchen. It had an open range like his mother’s with a rag rug in front of it and a big tabby cat curled up asleep. John Oliphant came round the table and grasped his hand in a fierce grip, reaching around to pat his back with his other brawny arm. Megan stood back, smiling shyly and he seized her and swung her around as he and Sam always used to do but as soon as he felt her soft curves against him he realised she was just as much a young woman as Natalie Turner, even if she was small and slender and less sophisticated. He had made her blush with his exuberance. Her mother made things worse.
‘ Hey lassie, there’s no need to blush for Stevie,’ she chuckled. ‘You’ve known him all your life.’
‘ I was surprised that’s all. You didn’t say you were coming home so soon in your last letter, Steven.’ Megan’s brows were raised in a question.
‘ No, I hoped I’d be demobbed and home for good but we’re being sent to Palestine.’
‘ Aw that’s a real shame,’ Mrs Oliphant said. ‘Draw in your chair laddie. Pass another cup and saucer and a plate, Megan. Help yourself to a scone. There’s not much butter with the rationing. We have to scrape it on and scrape it off again, but we’ve plenty of home made jam.’
‘ Aye help yourself lad,’ John Oliphant said. ‘I’m right glad to see you. Your Ma and Pa will be disappointed ye’re not home to stay though. They could do with ye at Willowburn now your Pa’s not so fit.’
Steven stared at the scone on his plate and didn’t answer. Megan looked up and saw the pulse throbbing above his jaw, she noticed the stern set to his mouth too. She exchanged a glance with her mother.
‘ I expect Fred’s annoyed because you’re not coming back to do the work yet?’ Chrissie Oliphant prompted.
‘ He’s more annoyed that I didna get myself killed like Sam.’ He couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice.
‘ Oh Stevie, dinna say that!’
‘ Well it’s true.
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